


When there's no one left to blame...

by TrillianParadise



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Supernatural, Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Brothers, Classic Rock, Crossover, Dysfunctional Relationships, Kidnapping, Other, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23168632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrillianParadise/pseuds/TrillianParadise
Summary: In this crossover story, Sam gets kidnapped by a jealous blonde vampire. Dean gets concerned. Takes place during season 2 of Supernatural.
Relationships: Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I am sure people have already written a Vampire Chronicles/Supernatural crossover, but I couldn't find one so here we are! Welcome to my project to keep myself entertained while I am in quarantine due to coronavirus.
> 
> The title is from "November Rain" by Guns & Roses, a song that reminds me of Supernatural for some reason. Full lyric: "I Know that you can love me, when there's no one left to blame."

Moonlight solidifies into silver shapes in the darkness, forming outlines as I blink the fuzziness from my vision. Instantly, my heart rate skips and begins to race. I’m sitting upright against something cold and hard, my head slumped over, chin resting on my chest. I lift my head with tremendous difficulty, my skull feeling like it’s floating on a lake of pain. Pain tugs at the edges of my mouth and I groan involuntarily.

He is sitting near me but turned slightly away, intent on the object in his hand. I see the white glint of moonlight on polished steel and know him only as a dark shape among the shadows. I struggle to lift my hands, but I only feel the cold bite of metal on my wrists and hear the clang of chains. I glance up at him again, knowing he must have heard me, but it seems he plans to continue to ignore me. 

Somewhat unreasonably, I glance around quickly for any sign of my brother, straining to see through the dark and with my sore, unfocusing eyes. Not a good sign, could mean a head injury. Or that I’m still working on regaining consciousness. In any case, there is no sign of other life in the room and a hard feeling of doom sinks into my chest. I am alone, and I only hope this means that Dean is safe.

“You should be astounded that you still live,” he says softly. His voice is not at all what I expect. It’s pure and refined, with some kind of posh sounding accent that my mind is too hazy to place. I still can’t see his face. “I’m typically quite efficient,” he says, “I take two, sometimes three in a night.” I grope desperately behind me for some way to free my hands, I’ve gotten lucky in the past. “Let me guess,” I say, fighting to keep my voice level with a misleading hint of hopelessness, “you want to turn me?”

He freezes for a moment, then rises from his seated position in the shadows. An unnatural instant later, his face is in front of mine. I flinch away, but he grabs my chin and turns my gaze back to him. The first thing I notice is how pale and smooth his skin is, like polished marble. I can’t help but stare, and get an eyeful of golden locks of hair, irises that glitter like blue ice, sharp cheekbones, and viscious red lips that curl back in such a way that they display perfectly straight human teeth except for abnormally long canines.   
‘So, not a normal vampire,’ I think hazily. 

Though I could see it going the other way, his features seem more predatory than handsome. This is highlighted by the fact that he is attentively analyzing me, his eyes searching my face with the same expression I’ve seen on my brother as he eyes a bacon cheeseburger.

Still intent on my face, he lifts the knife in his hand. I scoff at him lightly, choking down fear. I feel completely thrown off under his gaze, but we both know he won’t use a knife to kill me. “What’s that for?”

He looks at it as if just noticing it’s existence. “This,” he begins, and a wicked, almost lascivious grin spreads across his face, “...is for my own amusement.” I feel the blood drain from my face, realizing that if he isn’t bluffing, the creature means to torture me. “...But not yet,” he finishes, tossing the knife aside. I catch my breath again.

Then he sits on the floor in front of me, comfortably crossing his legs, as if we are friends having a casual chat. “First, I want to talk.”


	2. Humans aren't meant to be predators

The day before….

“......I see….thank you Mrs. Keating….yes, this is simply routine, at least for now.” Sam had one hand pressing his phone to his ear, he reached out to turn off the car radio (already low in volume) with the other.

“And your husband didn’t have any relevant chronic health conditions?” Dean smacked away Sam’s hand, and they exchanged glares. Sam pointed to his other ear and indignantly mouthed ‘I’m on the phone’ at his brother.

“Yes of course…..yes I am aware that asthma does not cause sudden extreme blood loss…” Sam tried again for the radio dial and his hand received another smack. “Thank you for your information Mrs. Keating, you will hear from us if we have any follow-up questions for you.” Sam became engaged in a silent struggle with his brother and their car swerved slightly on the road.

“No, it is not likely...okay, thank you.” He hung up and dropped his phone in his lap, then turned to his brother.

“Really?” His voice was high with the particular breed of irritation he contracts when they’ve been in the car too long and Dean is being immature. “You couldn’t go one minute without listening to Boston?” Dean glanced at Sam innoccently before turning the volume back up slightly. “It’s More Than a Feeling, Sam, turning the radio off would’ve been criminal!” Sam rolled his eyes and sighed, “okay whatever, but listen to this though-” his attempt at changing the subject was cut off when Dean waved a finger at him and began to sing along shrilly to the final verse. Sam waited, broadcasting unamusement and impatience. Dean’s voice squeaked on the climactic high note, and Sam cringed. The song faded away and the radio statickally- transitioned (ironically) into an ad for a blood bank requesting donations. Dean compliantly turned the volume down to mute.

“Eight bodies in one month in one small town,” Sam stated, “all showing signs of hypovolemic shock.”

“Right,” Dean agreed soberly, “and what’s that again?” Sam smirked, “extreme blood loss,” he explained.

“You could have just said that in English.” Sam chose to ignore him and continued. “My point is, I told you we have a case, and we didn’t just spend five hours in the car for nothing. So…”

Dean hesitated, then responded with a grunt that conveyed neither assent nor disagreement.

“What?” Sam prompted, knowing vaguely what was coming next and idly dreading it.

“It’s just...it’s kind of thin, y’know? I mean there were no puncture wounds and people die randomly all the time of non-supernatural causes-” Before Sam could argue that they had often driven farther for thinner, Dean continued. “Besides, you know what else is in Arizona besides old Republicans and hypo-whatever shock?” Sam opened his mouth- “the grand canyon,” Dean finished.  
Sam chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief, “really? This again?”  
“Yeah man! I mean, why can’t we just take a short vacation like normal people, huh? I know you’ve always wanted to go camping…”

Sam finished shaking his head and looked at Dean seriously, “why can’t you just say it?” he blurted.

Dean met his gaze in confusion. “What?” 

Sam didn’t say it, but he thought, ‘why can’t you just admit that you want to keep me out of the family business....because you don’t trust me not to snap?’ 

He looked away again, turning to gaze out the window. “Nothing...never mind. I think we should work this case.”  
He could almost hear Dean grappling with himself internally over whether to drop it or not for several long moments. Then he heard a subdued “okay, fine.” He let out his breath in a mix of relief and disappointment. 

Dean made a lane change that would bring them to the on-ramp to the interstate. “Paradise Valley,” he muttered, “here we come.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

“I can’t fucking believe the cheapest place we could find is $100 a night!” Dean exclaimed, “AND we’re two hours outside of Paradise Valley!” He threw his duffel on the carpet and flopped on the bed closest to the door- “ooh but this bed is like a cloud,” he admitted.

Sam followed suit, and gratefully stretched out his legs after the long day of sitting in the car. “Y’know,” Sam mused aloud, “maybe there’s a reason why all the deaths were really wealthy people…” Dean scoffed, “I think the reason is that this is a suburb for rich old people, and old people die a lot.”

“Yeah...maybe.” They both fell into a mutual tired silence. Sam stared at the ceiling, while Dean closed his eyes and contemplated getting Chinese takeout for dinner and taking a dip in the tiny motel pool before turning in early (he could at least pretend they were on vacation).

“It’s gotta be vampires, right?” Sam asked, “I mean...they’re the most common blood-drinkers.”

Dean sighed and reluctantly opened his eyes again, “no bite marks,” he reminded him.

“Yeah, but they could be masking the bite marks somehow to clean up their tracks.” With an angle to work the case on, Sam sat up and slid off the bed, and went for his laptop.

“I don’t know, sounds a little too….competent for your average rabid blood-drinking monster,” Dean pointed out, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He was thinking a nap before dinner would be nice.  
While Sam set up his laptop and opened it on his lap, the electric glow illuminating his face, Dean crossed his arms and let himself relax into the mattress. His body had long been trained to snag onto any opportunity for unfitful rest when it was granted it, so within minutes he was unconscious and snoring softly while Sam clicked away on the keyboard.

After about an hour of researching various magical and non-magical means of concealing puncture wounds via Google and his dad’s old journal and finding nothing promising, Sam shut his laptop, set it aside, and languidly stretched his shoulders. His neck cracked.

Dean was still snoring away beside him, his mouth hanging slightly agape, so he picked up the notepad from the bedside table and threw it at him. It hit it’s mark on his exposed neck, and Dean instantly startled awake. He seemed alarmed for a second (sitting up quickly, his muscles tensing) before he took in his surroundings, and Sam felt a little guilty. Then Dean saw the notepad and Sam looking at him, and glared. “Heyy…”

Sam shrugged innoccently, “do you want to go get dinner or not?” He asked, “it’s after seven.” At the mention of food, the transgression was forgotten and Dean became instantly motivated. He stood up and grabbed his jacket, patting the pockets to make sure he had the car keys. “Let’s go to that Chinese place we passed down the road.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The bar/cafe seemed to be the most happening place in town, though it was small, with only a few polished wooden tables. A man played a slightly out-of-tune guitar in the corner, singing songs with strange lyrics. The place was much more streamlined and clean than the much-frequented hang-outs of other small towns in America, Sam reflected. The majority of customers actually seemed to be there for the food, coffee, and socialization instead of just for getting drunk. 

It was past ten o’clock, and Dean had already retired back to the motel for a swim (in his boxers, because he didn’t own swim trunks), but Sam was not tired….and he certainly wasn’t relaxed. He was also regretting initiating conversation with this particular local woman.

“...I don’t understand why people in this country insist on filling their bodies with unsafe food products,” the lady was saying, and Sam nodded in polite agreement. All he had wanted to know was whether or not she knew any of the people who had recently died of unconfirmed causes, but she had now been ranting about the dangerous variability of the human diet for the past ten minutes.

“You want a story for the local paper? Here’s a story: those people died from eating white meat. It thins the blood…” Sam hummed in understanding, trying to think of a way to escape. 

“You know I read an article that bananas cause cancer, the information is right there, but people are too dumb and lazy to look! Corn, beans, and squash,” the lady listed. “It was enough for the natives and it’s enough for me.”

Sam cut in, “no, of course, I agree,” he said, “thank you, for the information,” he rose from his seat and tucked his notepad back into his pocket. “I’ll look into the white meat thing,” he assured her. 

She pointed a finger at him warningly, “do yourself a favor,” she said, “stop eating meat, humans aren’t meant to be predators.”

Sam nodded, before turning quickly to flee to the bar. Then he let out a sigh of relief, crossing his arms over the counter’s surface and leaning into it. The bartender gave him a sympathetic look, and Sam tossed her an amused smile, realising she must have partially overheard the conversation. Sam ordered himself a beer.

He stared at the lines in the counter-top while the bartender poured his drink, feeling the weight settle over him again. There was the usual anxiety, that involved knowing people were dying and knowing you are the only one who can do anything about it, but there was also the weight of the lingering sense of uneasy distrust he had been feeling for over a month now. The most unsettling thing about it, was that his feeling of distrust was directed at himself. He was feeling uneasy inside his own body. 

(The words his father had whispered to Dean, ‘if you can’t save him….’)

The bartender set the drink in front of him, and Sam reached to pay for it. The absence of his wallet was enough to startle him from his reverie, and he panicked for a moment before remembering.

“Ugh, sorry,” he groaned, “I left my wallet out in my car, do you mind if I just-”

He was cut off by a pale, slender hand being placed on his forearm. The stranger’s touch was gentle, but Sam tensed and turned quickly anyways. He found himself staring into a pair of striking emerald eyes in a slightly effeminate male face. 

The corner of the newcomer’s mouth turned up in a small smile. He said in a voice that was soft yet firm, “allow me, my friend.”


	3. Bonding With a Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's alias in this is Sam Rose (after Axl Rose of course)! Louis' alias surname is Lenoir (it just seemed appropriate). This chapter is really short...

Before Sam could say anything in response, the newcomer handed enough cash over to the bartender to pay for the overpriced beer, giving her a soft smile that seemed to fluster her slightly, and caused her to turn quickly away. 

“Thank you so much,” Sam stuttered, “you really didn’t need to do that!” The man turned back to him, brushing a silky lock of his lengthy raven hair behind an ear. “It’s no trouble,” he said, “I overheard some of your conversation with that woman...you are a journalist?” The man’s voice had a strange lilt to it, almost as though he was attempting to suppress an accent.  
“Yeah,” Sam lied, “I write for the local paper, we’re doing an article on the recent unexplained deaths in the area.” He hesitated, “would you be willing to offer a perspective on it?”

The man nodded, “I am interested,” he said, and gestured to an empty table in the corner, “care to sit with me?”

“Sure,” Sam agreed, “I’m Sam...Rose.”

He followed the other man to the table, feeling that this person would be more helpful than the vegan lady. 

“I’m Louis Lenoir,” the man said, offering a hand for Sam to shake before sitting down.

“You’re French?” Sam asked. That would explain the slight accent.

“Distantly, yes,” Louis answered, “but I’m originally from New Orleans.”

“Oh,” (Sam’s only experiences in New Orleans had involved ghosts and hoodoo), “that’s cool.” 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

They had started out talking about the mysterious deaths, and Louis had relayed the information he knew about the people who had died (all were wealthy and a few were acquaintances of his), but they soon got off topic. Louis was interested to know how Sam had become a journalist, and the more beer Sam drank, the more he became relaxed. It was kind of a nice change to talk to someone who wasn’t his brother.

“I was always good at writing in school,” Sam said (which wasn’t a lie this time), “and I was super nerdy about reading, I read every Shakespeare play and everything.”

A light appeared in Louis’ eyes and he leaned forward slightly, “I love Shakespeare,” he said, “which is your favorite play?”

Sam drank down the rest of his beer before responding. “I like the tragedies, Macbeth is my favorite.”

At this, Louis chuckled lightly, as though at some inside joke and leaned back again.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Nothing,” he responded, waving a hand dismissively over his shoulder, “Macbeth is one of my favorites as well.”

They fell into a warm conversation lull, while Sam gazed absently at his empty beer glass and reflected on how thankful he was for this distraction.

“I’m afraid we’ve gotten off topic,” Louis said suddenly, and Sam looked up to see Louis smiling. “I have a theory for you,” he said, “perhaps the poor men were attacked by a vampire.”

For a split second, Sam thought the other man might be another hunter (which would explain his air of eccentricity and the strange sense of companionship Sam felt toward him), but he saw only lighthearted mirth in Louis’ eyes and changed his mind. He laughed, “it’s possible,” he said, “but there were no bite marks on their necks.”

Louis shrugged in feigned disappointment, “ah well,” he sighed, “that was my best theory.”

After a few more moments, Sam realized it was late and Dean was probably starting to get paranoid. He told Louis as much, but he was in no real rush to leave.

“What is your brother like?” Louis asked, while Sam started to put his jacket on.

“He’s...annoying and paranoid, and has an immature sense of humor,” Sam said, smiling fondly.

Louis stood when he did, and they clasped hands again over the table in a farewell gesture.

“It was great to meet you,” Sam said genuinely. It was a rare occasion for him to bond with strangers without Dean around, as Dean was far more outgoing than him.

“Likewise,” Louis said, and added, “drive safely.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………...

Sam breathed deeply upon reaching the outside air and shivered slightly. The temperature had fallen several degrees since sunset, as it always does in the desert. He felt calmer than before, and thought maybe he would be able to sleep when he got back to the motel room.

Halfway across the parking lot to the car, an instinct sharpened by years of experience and paranoia caused him to freeze mid-step. It wasn’t quite a sound and it wasn’t quite a shadow, maybe it was just the displacement of air, but he sensed a presence that chilled the back of his neck.

He barely had time to glance around, looking for the rabid blood-drinking monster that he was convinced had been killing off residents of the town, before he felt a sharp crack of pain on the back of his head and everything went sideways and vanished.


	4. A Conversation With the Vampire

Dean floated on his back in the greenish pool, the warm water lapping soothingly at his ears, for as long as he could without dozing off and accidentally drowning himself. Then he rolled over in the water and swam to the edge of the pool, the splashing of the water breaking the previous reign of silence that had been disturbed only by cars passing on the freeway nearby.

When he arrived at his motel room, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his waist, Sam was still not back yet. He took a quick shower to scrub the chlorine off his skin, and later emerged from the bathroom wrapped in the slightly scratchy complimentary bathrobe.

He checked the digital clock on the bedside table, it read 11:35 pm. Dean wanted to sleep soundly, which was something he knew he wouldn’t be able to accomplish if he was worrying why his little brother wasn’t back yet, so he picked up his phone and called him.

He waited as the phone rang four times (one more time than it usually did before Sam picked up), then the ringing was cut off as the call was finally answered.

“Sam?” He asked, hoping his voice held enough hinted irritation to convince his brother to get his ass back to the motel, “where are you?”

“Bon soir,” responded a voice that certainly didn’t belong to Sam, “you have reached the vampire Lestat, how may I help you?”

The voice’s accent was so refined and….baroque, that Dean swore he could almost hear harpsichord music in the background. He pulled the phone away from his ear in bewilderment and stared at it, wondering if it might be cursed. He would assume that Sam was playing a joke on him, but considering Sam really had no sense of humor, some nutcase must have gotten a hold of his brother’s phone. Anxiety began to knot in his stomach. Cautiously, he put the phone back to his ear. “How did you get this phone?” He demanded, “where’s Sam?”

The voice gave a thoughtful hum on the other end, “does this Sam you speak of happen to be quite tall and handsome?” It asked, in a tone of playful innocence, “with soft, dark hair and a notepad in his jacket pocket?”

Dean froze, trying to think through the sudden onset of fear and anger that had just muddled his brain.

“What did you do to him?” His voice came out low, and hopefully threatening.

“Sam is sleeping away, relatively unharmed at the moment,” the voice said, though it didn’t sound particularly reassuring. 

Dean could swear that it had been only a week since the last time he or Sam had been kidnapped. If Sam was still alive, he was sure it must mean the kidnapper wanted something.

“What do you want?” He asked, cutting straight to the point, or so he thought.

“From you?” The voice asked, “nothing…. I am simply debating whether or not to drink Sam’s blood tonight.”

Dean was forced to quickly reassess the situation. Most likely, this was the creature he and Sam had been unknowingly hunting, and it was clearly an unhinged and cocky bastard. If the creature didn’t want anything from him and had only answered the call on Sam’s phone for its own amusement, then Dean had to think of something to bargain with, and he forced his mind to race.

Then the blood-sucker spoke again, “if you want to see Sam again, and see him alive, you had better pray that my fledgling finds you soon, I have a suspicion he is tracking you down now.”  
‘Fledgling?’ Dean wondered, ‘what the hell is the creature talking about?’

“If you are fortunate, you may see me soon,” the voice added lightly, “au revoir, monsieur.”

“Wait!” Dean protested, but the vampire had already hung up. He was just preparing to throw the phone across the room in frustrated despair, when there came a knock on the motel room door.

He steadied himself, and dropped his phone on the closest bed. He quickly tightened the bathrobe around his waist and grabbed his silver handgun from his open duffel bag. The situation, he reflected briefly, would be humorous if he weren’t afraid for his brother’s life. 

He approached the door silently, on the flats of his feet, then swung the door open and immediately aimed the gun at the man on the other side. “Who are you?!” He shouted.

For an instant, he saw a pale man dressed in black, with dark hair and startled green eyes, then he felt a stab of twisting pain in his wrist and something shoved him from the side. He stumbled back into the room but regained his balance, stopping himself from falling completely to the ground. In the next instant, he noticed that his gun had disappeared from his hand. He looked up to see the man standing above him, now holding Dean’s gun by the barrel, in his own hand.

Dean prepared to leap on his assailant, before he pointed his own gun at him, but the man quickly retreated, spreading his hands in defense. “Wait,” the man cried, “I apologize, you startled me is all!” He held out the gun for Dean, offering it handle-first, “I mean you no harm.”

Dean cautiously took the gun from the man, then stepped away from him. He decided against pointing the gun at him again, and held it loosely at his side instead.

“Are you Dean Rose?” The man asked.

Now that Dean was facing him properly, he realized the man did not look particularly threatening. He was about as tall as Dean, but more slender. That previous show of strength probably indicated that he was not entirely human.

“Who’s asking?” He asked in response. 

“My name is Louis,” he said, “I met your brother earlier this evening, and I’m afraid he’s in danger.”

“What kind of danger?”

Louis pressed his long fingers lightly to his temples, as if trying to keep his composure and think straight. “You won’t believe me if I tell you…” he answered, his voice falling to an anxious whisper.

Dean almost had to laugh at that (as it was, the edge of his mouth quirked up in a humorless smile), “you think he’s been kidnapped by a vampire?”

Louis looked up in shock, and stared at Dean, trying to read him. “How--?”

Dean decided he didn’t have time for caution, if this man (or vampire) could help him find Sam, he had to play this fast and loose. He could worry about killing him later, after Sam was safe.

“Okay look,” he began, “my name is Dean Winchester, Sam’s my brother, we’re hunters...and do you mind if I get dressed while I explain?” He asked, edging towards his pile of clothes on the bed, “because we’re kinda pressed for time…”

Louis gestured for Dean to go right ahead, looking slightly lost.

“My brother and I kill monsters, ghosts, demons...vampires--” he glanced at Louis while grabbing his shirt, and caught a flash of apprehension on the others’ features. “It’s our family business,” he continued, stepping into the bathroom with his clothes in hand to untie his bathrobe.

“We came here to investigate the deaths in the area, but apparently Sam went and got himself kidnapped.”

He finished pulling on his jeans and buckled his belt, then started to put on his shirt. “I called Sam, and some weirdo answered, who apparently wants to drink my brother’s blood.” Lastly, Dean hung his amulet around his neck, and felt it settle familiarly on his chest. 

He stepped back out of the bathroom and found Louis watching him expectantly from across the motel room. “He said his ‘fledgling’ was looking for me, is that you?”  
Louis hesitated, then ducked his head. “Yes,” he answered, “I am Lestat’s fledgling, the vampire he created.” 

“What does he want from my brother?”

“Lestat is a fiend,” Louis sighed, “I’m afraid your brother is being used to get my attention.” Anger flared in Dean’s chest again, but he kept his mouth shut.

Louis lifted his chin again and met Dean’s gaze. “I do not ask you to trust me,” he said, “and I do not ask you not to consider me your enemy...but let me take you to your brother. I do not wish to see him harmed.”  
Dean nodded in reluctant agreement. There was a chance it was a trap, but there was also a good chance Louis was the only one who could stop the other vampire (these were clearly not your average vampires, after all).

“By the way,” Louis added suddenly, “I found this in the parking lot where your brother was taken,” he reached inside the pocket of his long jacket and pulled something out, then crossed the room to bring it to Dean. “The car is how I found you, and how I got here quickly, your room key was inside it.”  
He handed Dean the keys to his Impala. He took them and stared at them for a second in disbelief. Then his brain seemed to catch up and his head snapped back up to look at Louis in horror.

“You touched my baby?!”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Dean kept his foot on the gas pedal, grateful that the hour was late enough there were hardly any other cars on the road. He never ducked under ten miles over the speed limit.

On a stretch of highway, he glanced over at the silent vampire in the passenger seat. Louis was staring out of the window of the car as if staring into another universe. The shadows of the rain drops on the glass traced patterns down his ivory face, his mouth fixed in a broody almost-frown.

Dean let out a tiny huff of laughter, quiet enough that a human wouldn’t have noticed it. Louis, however, was snapped out of his reverie and looked at Dean. “What is it?”  
Dean shook his head, “nothing...you just reminded me of someone for a second.”

The place Louis said Lestat would have taken Sam was on the edge of Paradise Valley, so they had a nearly two hour drive to get there, but Louis had reassured Dean he believed the vampire wouldn’t turn Sam or kill him while he was waiting for them.

The tense and anxious silence was killing Dean, so he glanced over at Louis again.

“Y’know…” he began, “you strike me as even more of a sharer than Sam, and he lives for that touchy-feely crap, so….what’s on your mind?”

Louis stared at him for a moment, that apprehensive look back in his eyes, as if he were trying to read him like a book. Dean had no idea why he was casually engaging with a vampire...but screw it, his brother was in danger and everything else was inconsequential so...whatever.

“You care deeply for your brother,” Louis observed randomly, turning his gaze to the windshield. Well, Dean couldn’t deny that, “Mm-hm,” he replied simply.

“I had a younger brother once, a long time ago,” Louis said softly, “to me he was the most important person in the world...and he was a far better man than me, but…...he made me a better man I think.” Dean watched Louis absently trace a raindrop’s trail down the window with his finger, before looking back at the road, an unsettling feeling growing in his stomach.

“I blamed myself when he died,” Louis continued, “it was my responsibility to look after him. The grief and the guilt ate at me, drove me nearly insane….and that’s when Lestat found me. If my brother had not died like that, I think I wouldn’t be here today. I would have died a human.”

Louis fell back into a contemplative silence, and Dean had a brief vision of himself, having failed to protect his brother, left without Sam to keep him listening to his conscience. Then an even worse vision: Sam left alone without Dean to protect him, defeated by whatever darkness was inside of him, and giving in to the destiny laid out for him by a demon.

Shaking himself out of it, Dean loosened his grip on the steering wheel, which had turned his knuckles white. He added a little more pressure on the gas pedal.


	5. Your Typical Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split the final chapter into two short chapters because why not.

The boy - Sam - apparently, was his name, was slumped at the base of a naked statue of David in the entrance hall of a preposterously lavish mansion. Silver chains wrapped around his torso, firmly binding him to David’s smooth shins and trapping his arms behind him. His dark hair (which was longer than most men wear it in these modern days) hung over his eyes, dampened with stress-induced sweat. His long, jean-covered legs were sprawled out in front of him, over the marble floor.

Peering up at him defiantly (though his breathing was harsh with fear), Lestat thought the boy made an utterly delightful image.

This was not the first time the boy had found himself in such a compromising situation, Lestat knew, and it was very far from the first time he had come face to face with the supernatural. Though of course, he had never encountered a creature such as Lestat. 

He had sensed this much from the boy’s mind since the first moment he opened his eyes and regained consciousness. He also sensed a level of understanding and acceptance from the boy that is only developed in imaginative individuals who have experienced unassailable suffering and loneliness within their lives as outsiders. It was no small wonder that his introspective fledgling had been so interested in this boy, he understood.

“Let me guess, you want to turn me?”

The question hit a sensitive nerve for Lestat, not because it was accurate, but because it drew attention to his own fear: that the same thought had been on Louis’ mind earlier that night.   
Had Louis considered turning this exceptional and handsome young man into an immortal companion with whom he would live far more peacefully than he did with Lestat? Alongside this boy and his deep, compassionate eyes, perhaps Louis would feel understood...perhaps he would be able to coexist with him without fleeing from him in a self-righteous rage every few months, to wander broodily across the country for a year or a decade until Lestat found some way to recapture his attention….

Sam flinched when Lestat crouched before him and examined him more closely, taking in the gleam of spite in his eyes that twisted his mouth almost in a snarl, the hint of innocence and purity about the boy’s features, making it easy to forget how fierce he was.

Lestat understood that the other boy who had called Sam’s phone to ask where he was, was the only mortal out there looking for him. The only one devoted to him. Understanding the boy’s circumstance and his loneliness, pulled on Lestat’s heart, making it beat a little darker.

He held a beautiful silver knife in his hand, and thought about using it to taste the boy’s blood while he waited, but the fear and repulsion in the boy’s eyes made him hesitate. To a boy who killed evil in humanoid form on a regular basis, Lestat was simply another creature to kill. He held no seductive power over the boy.

“First,” Lestat decided aloud, “I want to talk,” and he sat across from the boy so they were on the same level, throwing the knife aside. “You wish to exterminate me like a pest,” Lestat observed, “you consider me evil, and to fall under my spell would make you equally worthy of death.”

Lestat enjoyed the confusion he sensed from the boy, his bewilderment to find himself being psychoanalyzed by a vampire. “You cannot comprehend what it means to be immortal,” Lestat continued softly, “but to pass the time, I may as well attempt to describe it to you.” He knew he had captured Sam’s attention, when the boy stopped groping behind his back for a way to free his arms.

Lestat inwardly rejoiced in the attention, wondering which way would be most fun. Tapping into his reserves of unused power, he allowed his mind to bleed his own memories and experiences outwards like shadowy roots, magnifying them and making them fresh, to softly lap at the edges of the boy’s mind without him even noticing it.

He told him everything. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Over an hour had passed, but what was an hour to Lestat? He had all the time in the world, and he had been alive a very, very long time...something that Sam was beginning to fully understand.

Sam’s eyes were squeezed shut, as if he hoped being blind to the words on Lestat’s lips would make him deaf to them as well, his head tilted back, resting on David’s stone knee. This exposed his long, smooth neck to Lestat, who was not impatient or overeager, yet was growing more thirsty as the night went on and the boy’s will weakened.

He had not planned on killing the boy (fearing the wrath of his sensitive fledgling), but he could taste his blood without taking his life….in fact, he would make sure that he hardly hurt him at all.

When he approached the boy, looming over him, the knife cradled back in his hand, Sam seemed to sense it. His eyes flew open and his chest began to rise and fall at a faster rate. He did not, however, put up a fight.

The boy gave only a small gasp of pain when the knife pierced the skin over his collarbone, but it was a despairing sound. Lestat grinned, it was too irresistible now that the boy had accepted his fate.

Before he could lean in closer, he was startled back from his victim by the large front door of the mansion being kicked open with a bang, chasing away the shadows of the dark entrance hall with golden light pollution from the nearby town. In the doorway stood two figures that Lestat had been too preoccupied to sense approaching. Then, the sound of three echoing gunshots lashed the walls of the mansion in quick succession.

Lestat knew he’d been shot when in the next blink of an eye, he was staring up at the crystal chandelier that hung by a chain from the high, white ceiling. He felt something akin to pain in his stomach. 

A hushed voice was murmuring somewhere to his left, and though they all bled together in one panicked breath, Lestat made out the words “are you alright? Sammy...talk to me! Are you alright?!” It was the same low voice Lestat had heard over the phone.

He allowed his head to loll over to the side, in the direction of the voice, and saw the boy leaning over Sam, fussing over him, his back to Lestat. ‘Are you all right’ was a rather stupid question to ask in Lestat’s opinion, considering ‘Sammy’ was bleeding and his cheeks were too shiny. The boy continued to ask it nonetheless, until Sam finally regained his wits, and Lestat heard him gasp “I’m fine...Dean, I’m fine!”

Lestat looked above himself again, to find his fledgling standing over him, coming into focus in all his dark beauty. The last time they’d seen one another, Louis was storming away from him over some ridiculous quarrel about Lestat selecting his victims for their wealth.

“Louis,” Lestat gasped, pressing his hands to his stomach to staunch the flow of blood that was staining his expensive silk shirt, “you came for me.” He hoped he looked pitiable enough to extract some sympathy.

“As if that wasn’t your plan all along, you monster,” Louis responded, his frowning figure coming closer as he bent down to crouch beside Lestat. His voice was cold, but he reached his hands out to inspect the bullet holes in his stomach, his brow furrowing in concern. Lestat waved him away. The wounds were already closing up on their own.

“I would have thought jealousy was beneath you, Lestat,” Louis remarked (perceptive as always), offering a hand to help his maker to his feet, “You are acting strangely human.” Lestat stumbled less than gracefully to a standing position. He felt a bit weakened and dizzied from the loss of blood, and had to steady himself for a moment with a hand on Louis’ shoulder.

“Only for you, Louis,” he responded, flashing him a charming smile. His tone was teasing, but the words were true. Before he could repeat them again more sincerely, so Louis understood, he saw movement behind the other’s back.

Having been assured that Sam was all right, the other boy was pulling out a large blade that had been tucked in the waistband of his jeans and hidden under his jacket, and turning towards them. Ignoring his more knowledgeable companion’s cry of “Dean, wait!” The boy lunged at them, swinging the blade.

Lestat shoved Louis out of harm’s way, and the boy wasted no time in striking at Lestat again, both hands wrapped around the handle of the blade. Lestat dodged the swing easily, though he had to admit, the boy was unbelievably fast for a human. He caught the boy’s forearms and shoved them upwards, throwing him off balance. While his stance was weakened, Lestat leapt on him, pushing him to the ground and pinning him there underneath him. The blade went clattering. It was broad and serrated, good for separating vampires’ heads from their bodies so they wouldn’t be able to heal themselves.

“Dean!” Sam cried, struggling against his chains. Lestat caught a wave of terror from him.

He looked down at the boy that was underneath him, doing his best to throw Lestat off of him by bridging his torso and twisting his wrists where Lestat gripped them. ‘Stop struggling,’ Lestat mentally persuaded the boy (who he understood to be the other boy’s older brother), ‘it will get you nowhere.’ He felt him reluctantly go still beneath him. His expression, which had previously been hard and vicious, now seemed thrown off and a little confused. The fire in his hazel eyes fading.

“Dean…” Lestat mused, examining this new mortal with delighted intrigue, “why, you are nearly as handsome as your brother!” In both appearance and manner, he seemed to have little in common with Sam, yet Lestat knew all too well that contrasting personalities often compliment one another.

Weakened as he was by the loss of blood, he found himself dizzyingly, overwhelmingly, drawn towards the boy’s neck. He was young and strong after all, Lestat reflected, there was a good chance he would survive if he…..

“Lestat,” Louis protested, causing Lestat to look up, “let them go.”

He sighed in disappointed acquiescence, surrendering to the will of his overly compassionate fledgling. Reluctantly pushing aside his thirst, he released his grip on Dean’s wrists.

Still stunned by Lestat’s influence on his mind, Dean did not make an attack when Lestat got to his feet, freeing him. Instead, he sat up slowly in a haze while Lestat returned to Sam, whose gaze flickered from his brother up to Lestat, fear in his eyes.

Lestat crouched before him, taking one of the chains binding him in his hands. They were thin and old, having been found buried away in the basement. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Lestat told Sam, and with a small grunt of effort, he twisted and broke the chain between his hands.

Sam quickly busied himself unwinding the chains from around himself, and Lestat backed away from him. Throwing the chains to the ground with a light clanging noise, Sam leapt to his feet and went to check on his brother. Lestat heard a quiet “you okay?”

The muttered response that followed sounded suspiciously like “that son of a bitch…”

Lestat turned to Louis with a question in his eyes, and Louis responded with a slight nod. He approached Louis before the brothers could gather themselves and offered his hand. Louis took it, and when the brothers turned to look for them, the mansion door had been shut without a sound, and they had vanished.


	6. Some Type of Way

The sky had taken on a blue shade with a tint of pink in the East as they drove away from Paradise Valley and back to the motel they hadn’t spent the night in, the first signs of approaching dawn in the desert. There had been no sleep for them that night, but Sam knew the following one would be one of ‘those’ nights.

Even on the quiet road with his brother driving, and the familiar purr of their car’s engine around him, and the radio playing something that sounded like “November Rain” on very low volume, the vampire’s voice rang in Sam’s mind. How long had he listened to that voice? Long enough, at least, for it to have wriggled inside his head like a snake.

He had already explained to Dean the relevant information the vampire had given him. The vampire was indeed the cause of the recent deaths in Paradise Valley. Occasionally, he used his wealthy victim’s homes as his own private hotels. He had the ability to conceal the bite marks left on the bodies.

Then there was the information he hadn’t shared with Dean, and he told himself it was because it was irrelevant: how the vampire valued and understood every life that he took, how he made his victims understand his position, and their own position in relation to him. How many of them, once he made them understand….surrendered themselves to him.

Sam shuddered, and decided to convince himself it was simply mind control and there was nothing more to it. He couldn’t help wishing, however, that he and his brother would be unsuccessful in their attempts to track down the vampires again….and it was definitely going to be one of ‘those nights.’

At some point the creature’s voice and his icy, piercing eyes would visit him in his subconscious. Maybe he would imagine the vampire’s fangs sinking into his neck, feeling his pulse in his neck, feeling it slow….and Dean would shake him awake from his nightmare (having been awoken himself by Sam’s tossing and turning). Then Dean would ask him if he was okay.  
He would say it was nothing, just a bad dream.

Did he want to talk about it?   
No. He would shake his head.

With nothing else to say on the matter, Dean would turn on a bedside lamp (exiling shadows back to their corners) and grab the remote, turning the tv on to a random channel at a low volume. Then he would grunt at Sam to scootch over so he could flop down beside him on the bed. There he would lounge, making idle commentary on whatever stupid reality show was on in the middle of the night, until Sam drifted back to sleep.

That was how the night would go, and that was fine, Sam thought. They would both be fine.

“.....I mean you know I don’t swing that way,” Dean was saying (Sam had been spacing out the whole time he’d been rambling, but he began to listen again), “.....but that blonde vampire was making me feel some type of way...if you catch my meaning.”

Sam looked at Dean incredulously, to find him grinning at him.

“Are you kidding me Dean?!” Sam protested, only to be met with mischievous laughter, “he tried to kill me, that is so not funny!”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Louis sat at the boarding gate at LAX for the 11:00 pm flight to New Orleans. Curled up in a leather airport chair in the corner, he tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible and quietly re-read Les Plaisirs et le Jours in peace.

“Louis!”

Louis winced at Lestat’s rousing voice and looked up towards it reluctantly. Unfortunately, so did at least three other people, and once they looked up they seemed unable to look away. Lestat was wearing light pink pants, a floral button-up shirt that was only buttoned up about half-way, gladiator sandals, and champagne-colored sunglasses. His golden hair was a luxurious mane of curls that would make any California surfer jealous.

Louis thought he looked ridiculous. Though, he also seemed unable to look away.

“At last I have found you,” Lestat said with a grin (though Louis was exactly where he had told Lestat he would be), and approached him with a spring in his step.

From behind his back, Lestat brandished a plastic bag from one of the tacky airport shops. “I have brought you something, mon amour,” Lestat announced, and crouched down in front of Louis like a cat. He handed Louis the bag, which he accepted apprehensively. “It’s a Stephen King book,” Lestat said, nodding toward the bag, “an avid reader such as yourself needs to become more acquainted with modern literature, Louis.” Then he tapped Louis’ knee teasingly, “I would have bought you Fifty Shades of Gray, but I doubt you have the stomach for it.” Louis only huffed in response, though he was secretly caught off guard by this sudden display of thoughtfulness. “Is this your idea of an apology?” He asked.

Before Lestat could answer, the flight attendant called their boarding group, and they both rose to their feet.

Suddenly, Louis stopped Lestat by grabbing his elbow, causing him to look at him in surprise.

“You don’t have to be afraid you know,” Louis told him, watching him tilt his head in confusion. “Yes, I was angry with you….but I would never have chosen that boy over you.”

Lestat hesitated, his gaze fixed straight ahead, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. Then he looked up at Louis with a dazzling smile, shaking his hair out of his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, and kissed him lightly on the cheek before turning away. Louis shook his head in amusement, and followed him toward the boarding line.

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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